To Bloom

A seedling in the gravel,

Upwards will never travel.

A plant devoid of light,

Never had a fight.

When segregated from other plants,

The flower never had a chance.

When a sprout is never given love,

It will doubt the hand from up above.

A husbandman has to nurture his tot,

or else it will surely whither and rot.

Published by Jesse Breck

Jesse has been writing for over 15 years. He runs CopyThat. A website that offers his skills as a freelance writer. View all posts by Jesse Breck

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